


Within the Bending Sickle's Compass Come

by Moonlightkitten



Category: Timeless (TV 2016)
Genre: #RenewTimeless, Angst with a Happy Ending, Continuing the conversation that, F/M, First Kiss, Garcy endgame, Hurt/Comfort, Like come on man, Oops this grew a plot, Romance, Save Rufus 2k18, Slow Burn, Wyatt so rUDELY INTERRUPTED, Young Emma, ish, spoilers for the finale, they needed to talk
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-17
Updated: 2018-06-01
Packaged: 2019-05-08 02:24:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 15,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14684477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moonlightkitten/pseuds/Moonlightkitten
Summary: Needless to say, Lucy can't sleep after the events of the finale. She turns to Flynn for help, and they continue the discussion that was interrupted earlier by Wyatt.also, UPDATE: In order to destroy Rittenhouse and get Rufus back,  Lucy and Flynn must leave the group and embark on a mission together. Also, Emma.(I suck at summaries. Just read it and you'll find out.) :D





	1. An Ever-Fixed Mark

She didn’t even bother to knock this time, and he raised an eyebrow as she strode purposefully into his room. 

 

“To what do I owe this pleasure?” 

 

“Move over, Flynn,” she stated simply, and he set his book carefully down on his lap. 

 

“Not that I wouldn’t love to spend the night with you, Lucy, but don’t you think that right now, Jiya is more in need of your… attention?” 

 

She sank down onto the edge of his bed, not meeting his gaze. “Future Me is comforting her, and doing a much better job of it than I would. Anyway, I wanted to see  _ you.”  _

 

“If you say so,” he told her, letting a half-smile creep across his face. “Although, if you’re planning to stay the night, I would advise you that this bed lacks a certain comfort.” 

 

“Better than the couch.” 

 

Sighing, she swung her legs up onto the cot, leaning into his side. He said nothing, just watched her cautiously out of the corner of his eye as she stared straight ahead at the bare concrete wall some ten feet from the foot of the bed. With a small snort of laughter, he wrapped a gentle hand around her shoulder, and she relaxed visibly. They stayed that way for quite a while, neither speaking, letting the things that needed to be said hang dead in the air around them. 

 

Finally he reached for the lamp cord, engulfing them in blackness. It would be easier to talk when neither had to look the other in the eyes. 

 

“Why are you here, Lucy?” 

 

He could hear her swallow, feel her shoulders tense up under the warmth of his hand. 

 

“You were going to say something earlier, Flynn. Before Wyatt interrupted us. I need to know what it was.” 

 

He stilled for a brief second, before responding, perhaps a bit too quickly, “I don’t know what you mean.” 

 

“Come on, tell me” she whispered, inching a bit closer and letting his hand slip down to her bicep, which he stroked softly. “Garcia.”

 

Perhaps her use of his first name was intentional, or perhaps it was just a slippage, but either way, it worked. 

 

“Oh, Lucy. Haven’t you figured that out yet?” he said a bit bitterly, his mouth millimeters from her ear. 

 

She waited for a gruelishly long second, and he wondered if she could hear his heart racing beneath his heavy woolen sweater. “Yes, I have,” was her surprisingly steady response. He could just make out her eyes in the darkness, staring unflinchingly into his. “It would’ve been hard for anyone to misinterpret the way that you held me earlier.”

 

He had known that it would be a mistake to do that, to take her into his arms like she was the wife he had lost so long ago. He had known, and yet he had done it anyway. Maybe it was because of  the way she lay there on the ground, so fragile and broken and hopeless, or maybe it was because he, too, was upset about Rufus-- not to the extent that she was, of course, but it hurt to see his funny, hopeful, wisecracking teammate lying stiff on that porch. Most of all, he knew that she needed him, needed  _ someone, _ in that moment, and that he needed her. Simple as that. Like a reflex. 

 

Now he just chuckled softly, because what else was he supposed to do in this situation? Kiss her passionately, declare his undying love? He couldn’t do that, and it wouldn’t be fair to her, either. Soon she was laughing, too, and he deemed it safe to slide another arm around her waist. 

 

“Tell me how to help you, Lucy, because I don’t have a damn clue what I’m doing.”

 

“I want you to make me forget,” she whispered, burying an icy hand into his hair. “Just for tonight. Make me forget.” 

She wasn’t expecting him to shift so abruptly, but he did, yanking the chain on the lamp and flooding the room with light. He ignored her small mew of protest, and instead reached over her to the bedside table to retrieve the bottle of vodka. 

 

“Garcia. That’s not what I meant.” 

 

He raised an eyebrow, as if to say  _ what did you mean, then?  _

 

She weighed her options, decided  _ to hell with it,  _ and, with firm fingers, yanked him in for a bruising kiss, passionate-- punishing, even. He returned it hesitantly at first, using his free hand to softly stroke her cheek, before gently pushing her away. She flushed, stammering out a half-hearted apology. 

 

“I- I’m sorry. I guess I, uh, misinterpreted things between us.” 

 

With a bitter smile, he took a swig of the vodka, maintaining eye contact all the while. He lowered it and wiped his mouth with a deliberate hand, before offering her the bottle. “You didn’t misinterpret anything, sweetheart.” 

 

Hands shaking, she took the bottle. “Then why did you…” 

 

“Refuse you? Believe me, Lucy, you have no  _ idea  _ how long I’ve dreamt of doing that with you. But you’re in pain. You’re grieving, and I’m not  _ nearly  _ drunk enough to make love to a girl who only wants me for my body.” 

 

“That’s not why I--” 

 

“Yes, it is. You just lost your mother and your best friend in the same day. You’re hurting. You want somebody to hold you right now, but I promise you, you’re going to regret this in the morning.” 

 

“Garcia.” 

 

“Please stop, Lucy, because God knows if you say my name like that again I won’t be able to resist you and you’ll only hurt the both of us.”  

 

“ _ Garcia _ ,” she insisted, and the way that she said it was softer, tender, and he could feel the word wrap around the curves of her lips.

 

“No.”

But then she peered up at him from those limpid, misty brown eyes, leaving him powerless; and all of a sudden his arms were around her, bending her back against the mattress and kissing her with a ferocity that made her cling to him frantically, the only solid object in a swaying world. His trembling lips devoured hers, and she was swimming in the dizzying intensity of it, her heart pounding so rapidly that she could barely feel it in her chest. 

 

And then his mouth moved down, across her jawline and the length of her throat, evoking tremors all down her spine. She was weak, too weak even to speak, just letting low, guttural noises escape her. He held her gently as they made love, as though he was afraid to break her, whispering sweet little nothings into the soft skin of her neck, her stomach, her hip. Then when she burst like a waterfall, flooding the space between them with love and passion and wonder, he let her cling to him, caressing her softly. 

 

“Garcia,” she managed hoarsely, regaining her voice. “Garcia. Thank you. I- I needed that.” 

 

_ I love you,  _ she thought, but she couldn’t tell him, not now, not when she couldn’t be sure if it was just the alcohol or the grief or the overwhelming intensity of him that was causing that particular thought to run through her mind on repeat, like a jammed cassette tape.  

  
He just pulled her to him, draping a warm arm across her hip.  _ Safe. Loved.  _


	2. This Coyness, Lady, Were No Crime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucy has regrets, and then regrets about those regrets. 
> 
> (By the way, the title of the work is from a Shakespeare sonnet, and then the chapter title is from an Andrew Marvell sonnet, so I'm basically jumping around. )

She woke to a dim room, Flynn’s arms gone but shame gripping her even tighter than he had.  _ God _ . What had she been thinking? Rufus was dead, had bled out his life in front of her eyes, and instead of doing everything she could to fix that, she  _ had sex with the terrorist they had been trying to stop.  _ God, she was so selfish. 

 

But, screamed a tiny part of brain, if she was being rational, Flynn was on their side now, always had been, really, and Rufus would have just wanted her to be happy. She shoved that thought away, however, and stumbled into the shower, not even bothering to set the tap to  _ hot.  _ With her eyes welded shut, she dug her nails like razors into her sides; the icy water lashed at her cuts and bruises, and an acute stinging pounded through her nerves. 

 

Good. She wanted to feel pain. She wanted to punish herself for being so insensitive, so self-centered. Guilt welled up through her throat, which constricted painfully, and she felt the sudden urge to scream. 

 

Her best friend and her mother had died before her eyes in one night. That had to be some kind of record. Vaguely, she watched the water pooling at her feet turn a hazy orange, and wondered whether that was her blood or theirs. With a muted cry, she threw herself at the wall and hissed when she felt nothing but a dull ache in her side. 

 

Again. Nothing. 

 

Then the guilt really began to flood her and it was too much, too damn much; she sank to the floor of the shower and just sobbed. 

 

Jiya. Why hadn’t she been comforting Jiya last night? What was wrong with her, that she put that burden on the shoulders of Future Lucy? Wyatt. He had told her he loved her, and she hadn’t said a word, just sat there in silence. She knew she couldn’t have said his words back, but she hadn’t even acknowledged them, hadn’t said  _ I really value our friendship,  _ hadn’t done anything to show him that she  _ did  _ care, just not in that way. Flynn. He hadn’t wanted to sleep with her, had refused her multiple times, but she had insisted. It was all her damn fault. 

 

She hated herself. 

 

When Lucy finally emerged, there was Flynn, standing by the table for her, waiting for her. Oh, god. He was the last person she wanted to see right now. Silently, he looked her up and down. If he noticed that her bruises were darker and skin paler than the night before, or that her arms bore little crescent-shaped cuts from her nails, he didn’t say a word, just thrust a steaming mug into her hands. 

 

“Flynn, we need to talk,” she croaked, moving to sit down at the table but changing her mind at the last second. The height difference was already overwhelming, and she felt dwarfed by him. Powerless. Insignificant. 

 

He motioned for her to continue, and she sighed. “Look, that was a one-night thing only. I-I was upset. And, and drunk.” 

 

He laughed softly. “Lucy, the last time you had a drink was three days ago.”

 

With a frustrated noise, she shook her head. “Well,  _ you  _ were drunk then, one of us was, but anyway… I mean, we, I-- I can’t do this, Flynn.” 

 

His expression did not falter in the slightest. “What you wish to say is that you’d like to move forward and pretend that last night never happened.”

 

“I-- yes. Yes,” she whispered, unable to meet his gaze. 

 

A long pause ensued.

 

“Very well,” was his guarded reply. Nothing else. Not an  _ I told you so,  _ or  _ What the hell, Lucy,  _ which she might have expected, given the circumstances. But she didn’t miss the way his hands clenched up into tightly-wound fists, as though he were barely containing an explosion. 

 

“I’m sorry,” she breathed, because really, what else was she supposed to say? When he continued to do nothing but stare at her with that quiet intensity that, it seemed, was reserved only for her, she took a small step forward. “Um, I’m going to, uh, go check on. Um. The Lifeboat and future us and, uh, Jiya and stuff... so I’ll see you around?” 

 

“You should drink that before it cools off,” he observed, glancing down at the mug. “Nothing worse than cold coffee.” Then he was gone, and she was left standing in the empty room, cup in hand, staring at nothing at all. Tentatively, she took a sip and immediately burst into tears. 

No sugar, two creams. 

 

Just the way she liked it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys wanted a slowburn, so a slowburn you shall have :D Let me know your thoughts.


	3. Looks on Tempests and Is Never Shaken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stuff is about to get real. 
> 
>  
> 
> So I stole Shakespeare's words again for the title. Sorry, dude.

In the end it was Lucy that found him-- not his Lucy, but the future one, covered in dirt and grease but not any worse for the wear. 

 

“Garcia,” she whispered, sinking down beside him. He was slumped on the floor against the wall in the bunker’s storage closet, staring aimlessly at the open bottle of vodka in his hands. 

 

With a brief glance in her direction, he muttered, “What do you need, Lucy?” 

 

She sighed. “Do you know why Wyatt and I chose this specific time to come visit our past?” 

 

“I haven’t the slightest idea.” 

 

“Five years ago for me, and yesterday for you, I had lost almost everything that mattered to me. My sister Amy; Rufus; my mother, and, more importantly, the whole--” she made a circling motion with her hands, “-- the whole false security of her love. Jiya wouldn’t talk to  _ anyone _ , let alone me; Wyatt expected me to, to just  _ fall  _ right into his arms, which I obviously wasn’t going to do; and Jessica, who I thought was at least my friend, betrayed us. So basically, I felt completely alone.” 

 

With a sigh, he shook his head slowly, disbelievingly. “I’m sorry, Lucy. You didn’t-- you  _ don’t  _ deserve that.” 

 

She shrugged. “If we all got what we deserved, we wouldn’t be in this mess in the first place. I had to accept what had happened. I had to keep waking up every morning, had to keep fighting.” Swallowing, she turned to him, a bitter smile set across her jaw. “It was damn hard, Garcia. I’m not going to lie. But  _ you _ were the reason I kept going. Just you.”

 

He looked up sharply, and she continued, eyes steely. “ _ You  _ knew what it was like to lose everyone. You helped me. Look,” she said, her expression softening, “Last night, I-- past Lucy-- used you. And I’m sorry, I’m so sorry for that. But didn’t mean to hurt you. She was broken and scared, and she just wanted someone to hold her. I’ve had five years to think about what I did, but she hasn’t realized yet how much she hurt you.”

 

“You don’t have to apologize to me, Lucy,” he whispered. “Not for that. Not ever.” 

 

“Yeah, well, I am, and so will she, once she comes around. Anyway,” she said gently, prying the vodka bottle from his hands, “Wyatt and I came because past Lucy has lost all hope at this point. So has Jiya, and Connor. Even Denise is starting to lose it, and really, the only thing that’s keeping your Wyatt from quitting right now is the danger of going back into the world-- and Jessica’s baby. We’re here to give you guys some direction.” 

 

With a grimace, she lifted the vodka to her mouth and took a long, burning draught. Then, hands shaking, withdrew a small envelope from the waistband of her jeans. “This has instructions in it. Don’t show it to anyone, not even past me. Not yet.” 

 

He took it from her and carefully unfolded the paper, scanning the messy scrawl on the page.  “Goddamnit, Lucy,” he inhaled sharply. “You’ve got to be joking.”

 

“I’m afraid not.” Her lips curved into a sad little smile, and she rested her hand gently on his shoulder. “This is the part where it gets difficult.” 

 

“Lucy, I can’t do this!” he hissed, rising angrily to his feet. “She will  _ never  _ trust me again.  _ Never,  _ do you hear me?” 

 

She stood too and interlaced her fingers with his, a deliberate gleam in her eyes. “Oh yes she will, Garcia, because  _ I  _ would trust you with the damn world. This is how we destroy Rittenhouse.” 

 

Sighing, he mopped his hair back from his forehead. “Fine!” he shouted finally. When his voice echoed through the bunker, he continued in a furious whisper. “Fine, just…damnit, Lucy. You’re asking a lot from me. Where’s the software?” 

 

She extricated her right hand from his and unclipped a small flashdrive from her waistband. “There are a couple ports for this on the inside of the Lifeboat. The envelope has instructions for loading it.” Then her voice changed, became thinner, weary. Ragged, almost, as though she were reliving a particularly painful memory. “You’re going to need a gun to threaten her. Cover her mouth somehow, or she’ll scream and wake up the whole bunker. She’ll fight you, so you’ll need to subdue her or tie her up.” 

 

“No.” He shook his head, grimacing. “Absolutely not.” 

 

“Garcia--.” 

 

“ _ No!”  _ he whisper-shouted. “Lucy, you’re  _ insane  _ if you think I’m doing that.”

 

“I’m not giving you a choice here. Do you want to stop Rittenhouse or not?”

 

“Why can’t I just  _ tell  _ her?”

 

“She won’t go if you do. Do  _ not  _ mess this up, Garcia.” 

 

With an angry exhale, he tucked the flashdrive and the envelope into his jeans. “Is this going to work?” 

 

She gave him a small, mysterious smile. “You know I can’t tell you that. But if you really want a spoiler, I’ll give you a little one.” Before he could respond, she leant forward and pressed a short, chaste kiss to his lips. His hands immediately flew to her hips, pulling her flush against him. 

 

“So your spoiler is that you kiss like a thirteen-year-old in the future?” he smirked. 

 

With a grin, she playfully batted his shoulder, before pulling him down for a longer, deeper one. “That better?” 

 

“Mmmm.” 

 

Her chest rose as she giggled, before straightening and turning back down the hallway. “By the way, Wyatt-- as in, twenty twenty-three Wyatt-- is explaining to everyone the plan for capturing the Mothership. They’re in Jiya’s room right now and they’ll be distracted for a good hour, so you’d better start installing that software.” Then, with a sly smile, she added, “Might take a while to load, since it’s from five years in the future, and Rufus’s coding can get messy sometimes.” 

 

She let that sink in as she walked away, and he let the corners of his lips curl into a smile.  _ Dammit, Lucy, what have you gotten me into?  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts? Questions? Comments? Concerns? Suggestions?   
> I'd love to hear all of them.


	4. Brief Hours and Weeks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flynn follows the instructions in Lucy's note. 
> 
> **warning**: Um, contains mild-ish violence and (actually sort of consensual-- it's complicated) kidnapping? So if you'd like to skip that, there's a summary at the end.

_ “I love you, Lucy,” he says with a quirky smile, just barely raising an eyebrow. “Even though you’re crazy and you get us into all kinds of trouble.” _

 

_ “Aw, honey,” she responds fondly, draping her arms around his neck. Ethel sniffs indignantly behind them.  _

 

_ “You two are too in love. It’s sickening. Fred’s way of showing affection is kicking me in the side and telling me to make breakfast.”  _

 

_ The laugh track echoes through the background. Ricky laughs along with it, and then bends down and kisses her full on the mouth, pinning her arms to her sides. Just as Lucy’s starting to think that this is getting a little too PG-13 for fifties television, she realizes that she can’t breathe. She tries to push Ricky off of her, but it’s no use because her arms are so firmly trapped.  _

 

_ Her claustrophobia begins to set in, and she’s gasping for air, choking and writhing frantically; she tries to call for Ethel, but Ethel is just looking on laughing and _

 

_ she can’t breathe can’t breathe can’t breathe can’t breathe can’t breathe _

 

Lucy sat straight up in bed, heart pounding in her chest. The initial relief that she felt in waking up from the nightmare was quickly replaced with actual dread when she realized that, indeed, she couldn’t breathe. Something was covering her mouth, gagging her with its artificial plastic stench. Hands shaking, she reached up to remove it, only to discover that her arms were bound tightly behind her back. 

 

_ Oh, my god. Don’t panic. Don’t you dare panic. Oh god god god god god... _

Frantically, she whipped her head around and found herself face to face with the barrel of a pistol. Dread pooled in the hollow of her stomach, thick and acidic and sickening. Slowly, so as not to make any sudden moves that might cause her attacker to discharge his weapon, she followed the length of his arm up to his face, and… Flynn? 

 

What? 

 

“I’m so sorry, Lucy,” he growled in a shaky voice. “You’re coming with me.” 

 

No no no no. Not Flynn. She had placed her trust in him. She had bared her soul to him,  _ slept _ with him. He had all but told her that he loved her, for christ’s sake! Besides, he was trying to  _ destroy  _ Rittenhouse. This didn’t make sense. 

 

“Flynn,” she tried to say, but her voice was muffled by… what  _ was  _ that? Duct tape?..., and her panicked breaths were becoming shorter and shallower by the second. 

 

“Breathe,” he told her in a gentle voice, which was difficult to reconcile with the fact that he was holding a gun to her head. “I don’t want you passing out. Please just make this easy and come with me, Lucy. I don’t want to hurt you.” 

 

She forced herself to relax, to stand up calmly, as though she were going to follow him. When his grip on the gun slackened a fraction, however, she launched herself at him, using the weight of her body to topple them both over. The pistol flew across the room, and he swore, scrambling to get to his feet. She took this opportunity to kick him hard in the kneecaps, and he fell flat back on top of her. 

 

“ _ Lucy,”  _ he hissed, frustrated, using one hand to pin her down as he reached for the gun with the other. She kicked frantically, mostly in vain, but occasionally landing blows to his thighs. 

“Goddamit, Lucy, I’m not trying to--mmmmfgh-- hurt you! Just  _ please  _ stop resisting, and you’ll make it easier for--ah!--the both of us.” 

 

When he finally regained his grip on the weapon, he tucked it into his waistband, away from her reach, as she attempted to knee him in the back. Once again more gentle than this situation would generally warrant, he hooked his hands under her arms and lifted her to her feet. 

 

As soon as he let go, she stubbornly fell back down again, kicking him when he tried to come closer. Sighing, he stepped behind her and lifted her in the same manner as before, except this time, he did not let go. Instead, he marched her forward, gun to her head, whispering “I’m sorry, Lucy,” as she struggled against him. 

 

Her muffled cries were not enough to wake the rest of the bunker, and though she tried desperately to escape, he managed to drag her into the Lifeboat and shut the door. The very small  rational part of her brain relaxed when she realized that nobody else was inside of it. Clearly, his kidnapping plan wasn’t well thought out if he hadn’t even remembered to bring along Jiya as a pilot. 

Grimacing, he buckled her into one of the seats, shaking hands still pinned behind her back, and turned to the console. 

 

“Okay, Rufus,” he muttered to himself, studying a heavily creased piece of paper. “Your magic little program had better work.” 

 

After carefully pressing a few buttons on the console, the familiar sound of the Lifeboat’s engines began to whirr, and Lucy’s stomach pooled with dread. 

 

_ How was he piloting it? What the hell was going on?  _

 

As soon as it became apparent that they were in flight, he slumped back into his chair with relief. She let out another muffled scream, and he turned back toward her, eyes burning with guilt. 

“Lucy, look, I’m so sorry about this. I’m  _ so  _ sorry.”

 

Hysterically, she kicked her legs out, though she could not reach him, and shrieked furiously through the gag. 

 

He let out a pained sigh. “Hold your breath. It’ll hurt less if it comes off quicker.” 

 

Reaching over, he roughly yanked the duct tape off of her mouth, leaving an angry red mark across her face, and she screeched in pain. 

 

“ _ What the HELL  _ is going on, Flynn?” Lucy gasped out as soon as she regained her breath.    
  


“Lucy, you and I are supposed to work together to bring down Ritten--”

 

“SO YOU THOUGHT THE BEST WAY TO ACCOMPLISH THAT WOULD BE TO  _ KIDNAP  _ ME?”

“This wasn’t  _ my  _ decision, Luc--”

 

“WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU, FLYNN? I  _ TRUSTED YOU--”  _

 

“I’m not trying to hurt you! I can’t--”

 

“--YOU TOLD ME YOU LOVED--”

 

“Lucy, please calm down so I can  _ explain--”  _

 

“--CAN’T FUCKING BELIEVE--” 

 

“LUCY!” he shouted finally, clapping a firm hand over her mouth. “Please, just let me explain to you what’s going on.  _ Please,  _ Lucy!” 

 

She bit his hand and he yanked it away as though it had been burned. With a vehement glare in his direction, she nodded at him to speak. 

 

He sighed, rubbing his eyelids with a tired hand. “Look, Lucy, you have every right to be angry with me. This is… terrible. I never wanted to do this. It’s insane, and I understand if you never forgive me.” 

 

“Then...  _ why?”  _ she hissed, struggling with the cords binding her wrists. 

 

“I’m not supposed to tell you,” he croaked, his eyes flashing with hurt, with  _ pain _ , which she found amusing considering that  _ he  _ had kidnapped  _ her.  _

 

“Fuck that, Flynn. You think I’m buying  _ that  _ story? Who’s paying you?” 

 

“Oh, you think I’d risk your life in exchange for  _ cash? _ ” he hissed. “You really believe I care so little about you that--” 

 

“Damn right I do, Flynn! What the hell am I supposed to believe, when you’re pointing a  _ gun  _ at me and--” 

 

“It was  _ YOU!”  _ he roared, suddenly, just as the Lifeboat lurched to the side, and both of them were thrown roughly back into their chairs. “You, from the future, and she promised me that I wouldn’t tell you, made me go the whole nine yards with the tape and-- goddammit, Lucy.” His voice broke. “I am so fucking sorry.” 

She furrowed her brows. “So you’re trying to tell me that Future Me  _ made  _ you kidnap me?” 

“Yes.” 

 

Lucy let out a bitter laugh. “That’s bull _ shit _ . There’s no  _ way  _ I would do that to myself, Flynn.” 

 

“You did and you will,” he sighed, leaning his head in his hands. "And I never intended this to happen, trust me. Your future self is very...  _persuasive."_

 

She cocked her head to the side, snarling, “If that’s really true, why not just  _ tell  _ me?” 

 

“Because she has this… this crazy-ass plan for destroying Rittenhouse that she’s sure you’re not going to agree with--”

 

“Try me.” 

 

Just as he opened his mouth to speak, the Lifeboat crashed against the ground, launching Lucy forward at the impact with so much force that pain reverberated through her chest, her gut, her skull. 

 

“Damn landing software,” hissed Flynn through gritted teeth, unbuckling himself hurriedly to come to her aid. She kicked him soundly in the shin, and he stumbled backward as the time machine lurched to the side again. “Lucy! I’m trying to untie you, just _ hold still _ .” 

 

Hands shaking, he unbuckled her seatbelt and then, with little success, worked at the knot. “Scrape it against something,” she muttered, squeezing her eyes shut. “Do you have a knife?” 

 

“No,” he hissed, breath ragged. 

 

She inhaled sharply when his nail scraped into her wrist. “Could you… use… your teeth?” 

 

With a soft chuckle, he pulled her to her feet, and then continued tugging at it. “Do you  _ really  _ want me to do that, Lucy?” 

 

“No,” she whispered, leaning away from the sudden warmth of him at her back. “Where and when are we? 

 

“The note says Independence, Missouri, in 1889 . What was happening then?” 

 

“Um, Ben Harrison was inaugurated as president, though not in Missouri; Hitler was born-- didn’t your future Lucy tell you? Wait, which month and day?” 

 

He leaned over to the screen of the console, which was reading static. “Dammit.” Frustrated, he slammed into it, and it went completely dead. “ _ Dammit! _ ” 

 

She huffed. “Okay, you know what? Just get me the hell out of here, Flynn. We’ll figure it out.”

 

Sighing, he opened the door and slid to the ground. She bent over slightly at the entrance, and he wrapped both arms around her waist. “Hold on, Lucy, I’ve got you.” Gently, he swung her down, keeping a firm grasp on her. 

 

“Let go of me,” she ordered, once her feet met solid ground. 

 

“I’m not stupid, Lucy. I know you’ll just run away, and as much as I’d love to let you, your future self specifically told me to keep you in my sight until you believe me.” 

 

“Oh, she thought of everything, did she?” was her exasperated response. “You know what? I don’t give a  _ damn  _ about her stupid secret rules. As soon as you get me a knife, you’re explaining  _ everything,  _ or so help me I will-- Oh, my god.” 

 

“What is it?” 

 

He followed her gaze over the hill, through a grove of trees. Just barely visible over the skyline, which was coated with thick brownish smog, was a collection of piercing lights, shining from the tops of several… skyscrapers? 

  
She turned to him, brow furrowed. “Either Rittenhouse really screwed something up, or the Lifeboat took us to the wrong century. This is _definitely_ not 1889.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SUMMARY: Future Lucy's note contains instructions for Flynn to kidnap Present Lucy and bring her to Independence, Missouri, in 1889. She has given him autopilot software for the Lifeboat, which he uses to fly it. Meanwhile, (present) Lucy is unsurprisingly freaking out and screaming at him, and he is very upset and apologizing profusely. He explains that (future) Lucy ordered him to kidnap her as part of an elaborate plan to take down Rittenhouse that she's sure (present) Lucy won't approve of. [God, time travel is really complicated.] The Lifeboat has a bit of a crash, and Flynn is unable to untie Lucy's hands, so they leave the Lifeboat in search of a knife, but Lucy notices lit up skyscrapers in the skyline and realizes that they're not in 1889.  
> **************************************  
> Yeah, so I was just like, 'yeah, he has to kidnap her, but I'll just make him do it as nicely as possible,' and then THAT happened. And just like you guys, I really want to get back to the romance as soon as possible, but I feel like it might take a while for (present) Lucy to trust him again. That being said, however, I'm just a Garcy shipper at heart like the rest of you, so y'all won't have to wait TOO long...
> 
> (Also, why is Lucy dreaming about making out with Ricky Ricardo? Don't ask me. Okay, bye.)
> 
> Every comment=One more time Emma gets shot at the end by Lucy >:D (I love Emma, but LUCY NEEDS REVENGE PEOPLE)...


	5. Time's Fool

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucy and Flynn attempt to untie her and figure out where and when they are. Lucy struggles to overcome her feelings of helplessness.   
> (Also, y'all are like my new favorite fandom. You're so nice :D)

It took a two mile hike up rocky soil to reach the edge of the forest. Flynn had tried  to shield the Lifeboat from prying eyes with a few clusters of branches, but without two sets of arms to help, he had done a mediocre job at best. There weren’t any trails, at least from what they could tell, so Lucy had to maneuver through debris and steep slopes with her hands bound behind her back, and he had to keep her from falling more than once. 

 

After forty-five minutes, during which she refused to respond to his numerous attempts to apologize to her, they reached a small, circular clearing in the trees, which contained a decaying picnic table and charcoal grill. A worn footpath ran through it, barely visible through the trees. 

 

“It almost looks like some kind of national forest or something,” commented Lucy, kicking the edge of the bench, which gave way immediately, causing the entire table to sway unsteadily. “Not very well maintained. Let’s keep moving.” 

 

With a gentle hand, Flynn tugged her back, squinting down the trail. “Just a minute. I don’t see anyone, but we’re probably going to run into someone soon, so better disguise the fact that you’re-- er-- tied up. Don’t want any local police on our tail.”

 

Exasperated, she glared at him. “Oh, really? If it was going to be such a problem, maybe you shouldn’t have tied me up in the first place.”  

 

“Yeah, well, tell that to your future self,” he muttered. “Believe me, this is  _ not  _ high up on the list of things I’d like to be doing right now. What about… this is a long shot, but if I tie my sweater around your waist, can you make it look like you’re just casually strolling with your hands behind your back?” 

 

She rolled her eyes. “I don’t suppose you’re wearing anything underneath it?” 

 

“I guess it’s your lucky day, because I am.” He removed it swiftly, and she looked pointedly away when his undershirt rode up, revealing a large sliver of his chest. Not that she cared. Or that she had been staring. Definitely not. 

 

He stood behind her, chest flush against her back, in order to feed the sleeves of the sweater underneath her arms. When his arms wrapped around her front, knotting it in place, she inhaled sharply, but said nothing. 

 

It wasn’t quite convincing from the front, but at least the rope binding her hands was no longer visible, and, (he hoped), casual observers wouldn’t notice anything out of place. 

 

After a few more minutes, they came to what was appeared to be an abandoned campsite, and then after stumbling along for another mile, Lucy spotted an old, beat-up Jeep parked at the edge of the fence. 

“Can you tell what year that was made?” she whispered to him, eyeing the area warily for other signs of human activity. 

 

“Late nineties? Hard to say. Let’s see if it’s locked.” 

 

It was, but Flynn tore through the duct tape on one of the back windows, and reached through to unlock it from the inside. Hurriedly, he helped her into the passenger seat before rushing over to the driver’s side. 

 

“Can you hotwire it?”

 

“Yes.” It took him several minutes, but the car finally rumbled to life, and they sped down the trail, exhaling in relief. 

 

Once they were safely back on a paved road, Lucy turned to him, hissing, “Okay, you’re explaining. Now.” 

 

He sighed. “I can’t tell you about the mission. Not yet.” 

 

“Stop,” she spat in frustration. “Just stop this and tell me. Right now, Flynn, or I swear I’ll-- I’ll kick the door of this stupid car open and jump out. I’m not joking.” 

 

Abruptly, he slammed on the brakes, apparently not realizing that he had not strapped on his seatbelt. With a cry of pain, his left hand collided with the dashboard, palm down. 

 

An audible  _ crack  _ reverberated through the air.

 

“God _ dammit _ ,” he hissed, gingerly taking hold of the wrist, which was already beginning to swell, with his right hand. “Ahhhh. God.”

 

“Can you drive with one hand?” whispered Lucy, eyes wide. His hand hung, limp, at a funny angle, and it didn’t take a doctor to tell that his wrist was probably broken. 

 

“Yes,” he gasped out, resting the hand on his lap, wincing when it touched his knee. “Great. Now we have one working arm between the two of us. But. I need to-- ah-- show you something.”

 

Carefully, with his right hand, he reached into his pocket. Hissing in pain, he withdrew the note and began to read. “I know it’ll be hard for you, Garcia, --ah!--but you  _ cannot  _ tell me about this mission until I receive a letter from my future self. I will try to attack you. I’ll kick and scream and even bite if you let me.” With a bitter smile, he held up his right hand, which still bore teeth marks from Lucy’s earlier attempt to escape. She winced. “I will swear and scream--ah!-- at you. I will threaten to jump out of a moving car. Promise me that you won’t tell. I’m counting on you, Garcia. It’s the only way to keep Past Me safe until she gets that letter.” 

 

Eyes wide, Lucy studied him for a moment. His eyes were set with determination, though his mouth was contorted in pain.  “That really  _ is  _ my handwriting, isn’t it?”

 

He nodded. “Do you see now? I’m--ahhh, God!-- I’m doing everything that you told me, Lucy, just not  _ this  _ you. Not yet.” 

 

With a slow, ceding exhale, she closed her eyes and turned away from him. “I’m sorry, Flynn. Do what you have to. Just-- I  _ really  _ trusted you. I really did.” 

 

“Lucy--” 

 

“Just drive.” 

 

*********

 

The road led to a wider one, which led to a small ticket booth bearing the words  _ Thank you for visiting the Golden Gate National Recreation Area. We hope to see you again! _

 

“Okay, so we’re still in San Francisco,” mused Lucy. “Is it possible that the Lifeboat didn’t travel in time, it just brought us a few miles away from the bunker?” 

 

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “Clearly,  _ something  _ malfunctioned. Hey, ma’am,” he called out to the park employee inside of the booth. “Can we have your help for a minute?”

 

Narrowing her eyes, the woman turned to him. “Whatcha need?”

 

“Uh,” he said, turning to Lucy for help, “We’d like to… ah, know what--” 

 

“--We just got engaged,” interrupted Lucy, assuming a confident tone. “We just wanted to ask you, for, you know, a park receipt or something with the date on it. To, uh, remember this special day. ”

 

The employee smiled, turning to her register. “That’s so cute! I always wanted to propose to my girlfriend somewhere in nature. So romantic, don’t cha think? Hold up one sec, lemme see what I can do.” After fiddling with the computer for a few seconds, she triumphantly held up a small scrap of paper. Flynn reached his right arm carefully over and took it from her, wincing. It read  _ Golden Gate National Recreation Area: Admission $8. Purchased 6/13/2010.  _ “That work?” 

 

“Perfect, thank you,” he responded. "Would you, ah, happen to have a pair of scissors?"

 

When the employee shook her head, he drove off with a curt smile before she had the chance to say anything else. “Okay, Lucy. Does June 13, 2010 sound familiar?”   

 

She squinted, as though sifting through events in her brain. “Um, 2010… the Haiti earthquake-- that was in January, though. The Winter Olympics would’ve been this year, but those would be over already. Question: how did we manage to travel to a time when we already exist? I mean, I know Future Wyatt and I did it, so it’s possible, but--” 

 

Flynn swerved suddenly in front of a large black truck, and the driver, an old man with an enormous beard, flipped him off, before turning off onto a side street. 

 

“Sorry about that,” he told her, slowing down slightly. “Roads are slippery today, and it’s hard to steer with--arggh-- one hand. Anyway, that autopilot software that you gave me in the future probably figured out a way to do it or something.” He let out a little moan of pain when the Jeep surged forward. “Uffff. Anything else? What about in  _ our  _ timelines?”

 

Lucy considered this for a moment. “I don’t know. I would have been studying for my doctorate. Probably not back at home for the summer yet-- unless… wait, it  _ does  _ sound familiar. Let me think about it for a second. What about you?” 

 

He swallowed, glancing away. “I had… Lorena and I had just gotten married. Iris… would’ve been a year old.” Painfully, he exhaled. “She was so beautiful. Already walking and talking. She used to, to make me read her a story every night, or she wouldn’t go to sleep.” His voice was a strangled whisper by then, as he stared morosely at the road. “So beautiful.” 

 

Her eyes widened. “Oh, my god. I didn’t mean to--” 

 

“No, Lucy, it’s fine.”

 

She shook her head, eyes pooling with tears. “It’s  _ not  _ fine! Rittenhouse has taken everything from us.  _ Everything!  _ Lorena, Iris, Rufus, Jessica, Amy. And it’s like they just don’t care. They just keep taking and taking, and as if  _ that  _ weren’t bad enough, they go back, erase the timelines so the people we loved aren’t even the same when we come back. If they’re going to-- to  _ break  _ us like that, don’t we at least deserve to keep our, our memories? ” 

 

He was silent, but she could see his hand shaking on the steering wheel. She shivered, wishing that she could reach out an arm to comfort him, to touch him, to do  _ something  _ rather than just sit alone, in another sphere, in another world. “We’re never going to win, Garcia, are we? No matter what we do. Even if we stop Rittenhouse, we’ll never get the people back that we love. ” 

 

If Flynn noticed that she had used his first name, he did not mention it. Instead, voice trembling, he whispered, “Lucy. We’re stronger than them.  _ You  _ are stronger than them.” 

 

“No.” Tears began to slowly trickle down her cheeks, her jaw, her chin. “I’m just a nuisance to Rittenhouse. I don’t  _ matter,  _ Garcia! There’s nothing. I. can. do. to stop them. See this scar on my face?” Eyes wild, she turned to him. “I got it when Emma beat me. She  _ won.  _ I could’ve stopped her, but I failed. I failed! I failed, and she would’ve  _ killed  _ me if you hadn’t stopped her. If I hadn’t been so weak, such a bad shot--”

 

“Lucy, listen to me! You did  _ nothing  _ wrong. Nothing, do you hear me?” 

 

“You’re sweet, but that’s not---  _ aah!”  _

 

The car in front of them, a small white Toyota, suddenly veered off course and flipped on its side. 

 

“STOP THE CAR!” Lucy screamed, and Flynn slammed on the brakes, letting out a little scream of pain. The Toyota continued rolling, turning over several times and knocking down a fence, before plunging into a pond on the side of the road. With a forceful kick, she forced open the door of the Jeep and ducked under the seatbelt. 

 

“Lucy, what are you--” 

 

“Drive! We’re near downtown, and there should be a hospital a few miles from here. Go get an ambulance to come back and have someone look at your wrist while you’re there. I’m going to flag down someone for help.” 

 

“Lucy--” 

 

“Save your breath. You can’t swim with that hand.” 

 

“Lucy, it's just one person, and this is the past, so maybe they're suppose--” 

 

“I AM  _ NOT  _ LETTING THAT PERSON DIE, OKAY? I WAS IN A CAR CRASH ONCE, AND, AND-- JUST DRIVE!” she screamed, running nimbly to the edge of the pond. With a sigh, he took off, cursing her and the Toyota under his breath.  

 

As she watched, the Toyota began to sink, and the young woman inside screamed at her for help, though Lucy could do nothing but stand there and hope someone would drive by. 

Dammit. She wasn’t going to let that girl die. She was going to go back to her family safe tonight, and Rittenhouse could just go straight to hell. 

 

Then the claustrophobia set in, as she had known it would, from all those years before. Lucy had almost died in that accident in her junior year of college; she had been certain she would die… the loss of control, the screaming, the helplessness, the gasping for breath against the roof of the car, the realization that she would never see Amy again, would never finish college  _ or  _ join that band… 

_ No. Stop it, Lucy. No point in panicking.  _

 

But there was no way to stop the panicking, because here she was, watching the same thing happen to a stranger, and she had no control over the situation, just like she had had no control over the crash, years ago… Nobody came, and the car continued filling with water while she looked hopelessly on.. It was a white Corolla, brand new. Not a scratch on it. How could a twenty-something girl afford that? Unless it was…

 

_ Oh my god. _

 

… a rental. 

 

That was why June thirteen was so familiar. How could she have forgotten? Lucy had had to fill out reams of paperwork and insurance claims for that rental Corolla.  _ Date of accident. Model of car.  _

 

That woman, trapped in the car, was  _ her.  _

 

Strangely, she felt almost relieved. She had been rescued all those years before, hadn’t she? An old man had pulled her out of the water, had called an ambulance. Lucy had been  _ fine _ . 

Exhaling shakily, she scanned the area for cars. Still nobody. What had the old man looked like? He had had a large beard, hadn’t he?  Why wasn’t anyone coming? 

 

Frantically, she turned back to the lake, where past Lucy was still struggling inside of the Toyota. The car was not completely submerged yet, but it was getting close to that point, and there was only a small amount of air left at the top. 

 

Someone needed to come  _ now.  _ Where was the old man? He wasn’t coming quickly enough. Why wasn’t--- oh. 

 

With a sinking feeling, she remembered the man in the black truck, who, just a few minutes earlier, had turned off onto a side street when Flynn swerved in front of him. 

 

_ Dammit.  _

 

No one was going to come. Past Lucy was going to die, right there, in that car, as her future self looked on, helpless. Fear flooded her veins. Would she be erased from history, like in  _ Back to the Future?  _ Who would be the Time Team’s historian without her? 

 

_ God god god god god god god god god  _

 

She watched herself begin to drown, gasping for air at the top of the car, flailing wildly, screaming. No. No. No. This couldn’t be happening. She shouldn’t have to die this way. She  _ couldn’t  _ die this way. She was helpless, powerless. Vulnerable. Caged in these damned restraints, in that sinking car. 

 

There was nothing she could do. The realization washed over her like cement, rooting her to the spot. She wasn’t dreaming, couldn’t wake up. She. Was. Going. To. Die. 

 

_ Lucy. You are stronger than them,  _ hissed Flynn’s voice, but he wasn’t real, wasn’t there. He would return to find her dead. 

 

_ Lucy.  _

 

“NO!” she screamed out suddenly, dropping to the ground. She wasn’t going to let this happen. She was not going to let herself die. Rittenhouse couldn’t,  _ wouldn’t _ control her.  _ Fate  _ wouldn’t control her. 

 

Not today. 

Today, she was going to choose what happened to her, and she chose to live. 

 

With a cry, she used her feet to force her body through her bound arms, hissing as they were crushed underneath her. She struggled with her hands, finally managing to get them out from under her legs. Shaking, she stood, hands tied in front of her now, and took three running steps forward, plunging straight into the water. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... Sorry, cliffhanger. Let me know what you thought...


	6. If y'all thought pronoun ambiguity was complicated before...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucy attempts to rescue herself.

_ Flynn Rittenhouse has taken everything from us Iris used to make me read her a story every night they just keep taking and taking I don’t give a  _ damn  _ about Wyatt I am NOT letting that person die, so just drive Lucy, you did  _ nothing  _ wrong we’re stronger than them you’re stronger than them.  _

 

_ We can change history, and somehow, some way, we can save the people we love. _

 

It was like ice at first, slamming, shattering her body and lungs with an intensity that took away her breath. 

 

_ Stronger.  _

 

Her arms were not of much use to paddle the water, and she flailed around a bit before righting herself. Inhaling, she stretched them out in front of them and dove in headfirst, using her legs to propel her with long, broad, powerful strokes. There was no room for error here. She approached the sinking car slowly but steadily, watching herself struggle inside the Toyota. Past Lucy was still moving, which was a good sign, but her mouth was pressed up against the ceiling of the cab, which was filled almost to the brim with water. 

 

_ Right,  _ she told herself when she reached the car.  _ Do. Not. Panic. Be logical. Break the glass.  _

 

She didn’t exactly have a hammer with her, so this would be challenging. If she somehow managed to climb atop the car, she might be able to muster up enough force to kick the windshield through. 

 

_ Breathe.  _

 

With a cry of determination, she flung herself at the Toyota, managing to grab hold of the left side mirror, but it was wet and her hands were bound, and she was slipping slipping slipping and oh, god, she wasn’t going to make it on time, and  _ no. Stop it, Lucy. You’re not going to die here. Not now. Not today.  _ Thanking heaven that she was wearing just leggings and not one of her period skirts, she swung her right leg forcefully up onto the hood of the car, digging her heel in when it bobbed precariously to the side. Using that as leverage, she managed to hoist herself fully up onto the front of the car, which sunk deeper into the water with her weight. 

 

From this angle, she could just barely hear past Lucy choking on mouthfuls of water, but it was muffled and gurgling and  _ get a grip, Lucy. No time to think about that.  _ With a deep breath, she swung herself around so that she was sitting on the roof of the car. 

 

_ One chance to get this right. Don’t mess this up, Lucy.  _

 

Without pausing to think, she smashed both heels down onto the windshield, and  _ oh thank heavens  _ there was a crack, but it was miniscule. Again. Again. Again, and finally a whole piece shattered through, and she kept kicking and kicking and kicking until the hole was large enough to fit a small person. 

 

“LUCY! SWIM OUT!” she screeched, sliding down so that she was lying on the hood, bound hands clutching at the edge of the hole. Dimly, she registered the water reddening as the broken glass pressed into her fingertips. Past Lucy was taking far too long-- why wasn’t she leaving the car?

Gritting her teeth through the pain, she squeezed down at the jagged edges of the hole and pulled her body up to peer into the car. 

 

_ Dammit dammit dammit,  _ because past Lucy was floating, motionless, near the top of the car. 

 

_ No.  _

_ No no no, she’s dead. You’re too late. She’s dead,  _ you’re  _ dead, and there’s nothing you can do,  _ nothing.  _ Dead, floating there, and dammit, dammit Lucy.  _

She was panicking now, breath coming readily in shallow, short gasps (and there was an irony to that, wasn’t there), chest heaving. She was trapped all over again, watching herself from both perspectives, and there were two of her but it hadn’t strengthened her at all, had only weakened her, had  _ killed  _ her, and  _ oh god god god god _

 

But then past Lucy shifted, just a fraction-- not by any motion of her own, simply because of the water current-- and suddenly her head was in reach: long, thick tresses of hair floating through the water, and then, suddenly,  _ I can still save her.  _ It was a long shot, such a long shot, but as Lucy leaned forward through the hole and seized that hair in her teeth, she felt  _ powerful  _ for the first time _.  _ In control. 

 

_ I’m going to win.  _

 

_ I’m going to win for once, Rittenhouse and death and fate be damned.  _

 

And she yanked at the hair with her mouth, and Past Lucy’s head followed, and then her shoulders, and then she was able to let go of the hole and grab hold of her shirt and pull her all the way through, using her own legs to keep her afloat.  

 

She paddled back to shore the same way, dragging an unconscious body by a sweater through the lake, both hands tied and head struggling to stay above the water. When the lake grew shallow enough, she used a combination of kicking and pushing to get past Lucy onto  the shore, where she laid her flat out and began chest compressions. 

 

And really, it was difficult not to laugh at the idea of performing CPR on one’s past self while tied up, but she’d be damned if she wasn’t going to do her very best. 

 

When the ambulance and fire truck arrived fifteen minutes later, Lucy got a few odd looks, but for the most part, the paramedics did not question her, instead loading her past self onto a stretcher with amazing agility. 

 

“Don’t worry, sweetie,” an EMT told her, patting her arm gently. “Your sister will be just fine.” 

Lucy inhaled, a grim smile set across her jaw. “Damn right she will.” 

 

_ My sister will be just fine _ ,  _ and so will I, and Rufus, and Lorena, and Iris, and Garcia.  _

 

_ We are stronger than them.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Extra Garcy next chapter to make up for the lack of it here, I promise! :D I just really wanted to do this, since I feel it's important for Lucy's character arc for her to regain the confidence in herself that she lost during that car crash. And because this is a time travel show, I thought that it would be nice to have her overcome her claustrophobia and sense of weakness by directly confronting the event that caused it, and regaining control over the situation. I think that this also relates to her relationships with Wyatt and Garcia, because Wyatt kind of tries to manipulate her throughout Season 2, and she doesn't quite refuse him there at the end. I figured that if I was going to have her break things off with him once and for all, she would need to restore that self-confidence somehow. So there ya go.


	7. Alters When it Alteration Finds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay, since y'all were so patient, I added some extra Garcy this chapter :D

The first thing that she did upon having the ropes cut was slap him headlong across the face. He flinched. “I suppose I deserve that.” 

 

“Yeah, well,” she snorted, sliding into the driver’s seat of the Jeep. “Not as much as my future self does. Get in. We’re finding a hotel and then sorting out this mess.” 

 

He did, buckling himself in with some difficulty, given that his left hand was currently immobilized in a cast at his side. With a final glance back at the hospital where Past Lucy was still being treated, she spun the car out onto the highway. “Okay, you have your gun with you, right? Can we think of a way to get a free hotel that doesn’t involve being arrested?” 

 

He coughed, raising an eyebrow.  “Lucy… you  _ do  _ realize that we’re in twenty ten, right? We both have bank accounts. Just find an ATM.” 

 

She almost laughed in relief. “Can we just stick to the twenty first century from now on? So much easier.” 

 

They pulled into a drive-through Bank of America, and Lucy began to enter her information. 

 

“Um. I don’t remember what my PIN was eight years ago. You?” 

 

He told it to her, and they withdrew two hundred dollars, giggling like teenagers as they pulled away. 

 

“So easy,” Lucy grinned. “I love this.” 

 

With a playful smile, he poked her in the ribs. “So, Miss Preston, where are we staying?”

 

Unnerved by his sudden touch, she shivered slightly and pulled away, stuttering, “Uh, well, um… Sorry, I… well, the Fitzgerald’s been around since 1910, so that’s probably our best bet.” 

 

Thirty minutes later, they strode into the lobby of the Fitzgerald, which was small and carpeted with thick, floral fabric that seemed to cover every surface, including the reception desk. 

 

“How can I help you today?” asked the receptionist briskly, his eyes resting briefly on Lucy’s chafed wrists and damp clothing. 

 

She quickly slid her hands into her pockets. “Uh, my… husband and I would like a room for, uh…” She shot a questioning glance at Flynn. 

 

“Two nights, at least,” he interjected, rummaging through his pocket with his working hand. “The largest one you have, preferably.” He pulled out a wad of twenties and placed it on the counter. 

 

The clerk clicked through his computer for several seconds. “You’re in luck! We have just one room left, on the second-- oh, wait. Hold on.” With a sigh, he squinted at the screen. “Our systems are  _ so  _ slow. Sorry, it looks like that room was reserved already.”

 

“Uh,” said Lucy, thinking quickly. “Oh! That must be  _ our  _ reservation. We made one earlier, didn’t we, honey?” 

 

Flynn raised an eyebrow, whispering furiously to her, “Uh, Lucy, maybe we should just find a different--” 

 

She shushed him. The clerk eyed them skeptically. “What name did you put it under?”   
  


“Um… Meghan and Harry… Markle,” she said wildly, as Flynn snorted.

 

_ “ _ Seriously, Lucy?”

 

“Actually,” said the clerk reluctantly, narrowing his eyes. “I don’t know what’s going on with you two, but that  _ is  _ the name it’s listed under. Can I see an ID?” 

 

“I, um, left it at--” began Lucy, but she was interrupted by Flynn. 

 

“Okay, you caught us,” he said in a sheepish voice, sliding a hand around her waist and tugging her closer, “she’s not  _ actually  _ my wife, and we don’t want the missus finding out, so we’re trying to keep this quiet, if you don’t mind. Paying with cash, using fake names, that kind of thing.” 

 

“Right,” whispered Lucy, snuggling back into his arms. “We’d appreciate it if you’d go along with it.”

 

Shaking his head, the clerk sighed, exasperated. “I hate this job. You know what, just go. Room number 238.” He slid a room key across the desk before leaning his head on his hands, muttering to himself. 

 

Lucy snatched it and dragged Flynn into the elevator by his good arm. When the doors had closed, she exhaled in relief. 

 

He glanced curiously at their joined hands, but did not drop hers. In a low voice, he whispered, “Lucy, do you think that Rittenhouse is here?”

 

“What?” 

 

“The reservation names. Meghan and Harry Markle? Someone knew you were going to say that.” 

 

“Oh.” She seemed to notice for the first time that she was still holding his hand, and dropped it hastily, blushing. “It’s possible. We should be careful. But don’t you think that, since Future Me gave you--” 

 

The elevator opened with a small  _ ding,  _ and Flynn abruptly quieted as a family of four shoved their way through the doors. Silently, they made their way down the hallway. Lucy slid the card into the reader on the door of room 238, but when she reached for the handle, he tugged her back. “Let me go in first.” 

 

She shook her head furiously. “Garcia, you have a  _ broken wrist--”  _

 

“--and a  _ gun _ ! If there’s any sign of danger, Lucy, promise me that you’ll run back down the hallway.” 

 

With a furious huff, she shoved him aside. “I don’t want you playing the hero for me, okay? I can take care of myself.” 

 

Eyes narrowed, he pulled her around by the waist to face him. She swallowed, registering the hurt, the anger, the worry in his eyes. 

 

“Believe me, Lucy, I know that.” he growled, gently taking her face in the palm of his right hand. “But you’re too important. If  _ anything  _ were to happen to you, I would...” 

 

“Garcia…”

He sighed, pushing a strand of hair back from her face, bending over her until his nose was inches from hers. She inhaled his scent, heart racing, hyper aware of every part of his body.  _ If he would just lean in a bit more... _

 

“Hey,” snapped a voice from behind them. “Can it wait until you’re  _ in  _ the room, please?” 

 

They both jumped, whirling around to face the woman standing in the doorway across from them. She was tall and lanky, her short hair a light blonde, and face twisted into a grimace. Lucy tilted her head. She recognized the woman, but she was different somehow, and she couldn’t quite place...

 

Oh. 

 

Emma. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was sort of short? I actually have a lot more written, but I felt like that was a good place to end a chapter, so. Sorry.


	8. More plot lmao

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucy and Flynn question Emma and learn some interesting things.

Flynn’s right hand was at her throat in an instant, pinning her roughly against the wall. Her eyes widened in shock, and she flailed madly as Lucy pulled his gun from his waistband and pressed it against her temple. 

 

“How did you find us?” demanded Flynn, voice harsh and grating. 

 

Emma gasped for breath. “I  don’t know-- _ mmph--- _ what--- you’re---talking about!”

 

Lucy flicked off the safety. 

 

With a squeak, Emma shirked away from the weapon. “Please, please don’t---  _ ah-- _ shoot me! You have the--  _ ahhh-- _ wrong person!” 

 

Keeping the gun trained on her head, Lucy turned to Flynn. “Don’t hold her so tightly. We need to hear what she has to say.” 

 

He grunted angrily, loosening his grip just a little. “Talk.” 

 

Emma curled her body away from him, placing her hands in the air. In a shaking voice, she gasped, “I don’t know who you think I am, but I swear I haven’t done anything! I’m just a maid. I-- I  _ work  _ here!” 

 

They glanced down at her. Indeed, she was wearing a short black dress with a tag affixed to the front bearing the name  _ Emma.  _

 

“She’s young,” whispered Lucy. Emma’s face was completely wrinkle-free, dotted with tiny freckles and made up with copious amounts of makeup. 

 

“Twenty-three,” she said fearfully. “I’m twenty-three. I’m just a student! I’m working here this summer before I go off to Cambridge--  _ please!  _ I’ve done nothing!” Her eyes were pleading.

 

“Even if we believe you,” hissed Lucy, “You’re still a member of Rittenhouse. Really, there’s no good reason for us not to shoot you here.” 

 

Emma’s eyes widened. “No, no, I swear, you’ve got the wrong person--”

 

“Lucy,” Flynn whispered, keeping his eyes fixed firmly on the prisoner, “She joined Rittenhouse  _ after  _ she got her master’s at MIT. She told us so.” 

 

“So she really doesn’t know?” wondered Lucy, beginning to lower the weapon, before seeming to think better of herself. “Well, either way, we can prevent all of this from happening if we just shoot her now anyway.” 

 

“No no no, please!” squeaked Emma, tears beginning to roll down her face. “Don’t hurt me! I’m not who you’re looking for! I have a family, a baby girl, and--”

 

“What?” Lucy interjected. “You have a  _ daughter?”  _

 

_ No,  _ mouthed Emma, shaking her head silently, squeezing her eyes shut.  

 

“Tell us where she is,” Flynn growled, slamming her harder against the wall with his good hand. 

 

“No,” she whispered. “I don’t know why you’re after me, but you leave her alone. Just… leave her alone.”

 

Lucy sighed, turning to him. “Should we keep questioning her? I don’t think she’ll talk.”

 

He nodded.

 

“Are you sure? I’d rather just shoot her now.” 

Emma squealed again, covering her eyes with her hands, a funny sobbing noise gurgling forth from her throat. “Please, I’ll do anything. Please!”

Flynn coughed. “Tell us where your daughter is, and we’ll let you off.” 

 

“What?” Lucy almost screamed. “No, we won’t! Did you forget she’s our  _ enemy?  _ That  _ she shot Rufus?  _ Almost strangled me to death?” 

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” gasped out Emma. “I swear, I didn’t hurt anyone! You’ve got the wrong person! Please!” 

 

With an unflinching gaze, Lucy steadied her aim on the other woman’s head.  

 

“Lucy.  _ Do. not. pull that trigger.”  _ he hissed warningly, trying with little success to nudge her arm away with his shoulder. 

 

Her voice was dangerous as she refocused the gun. “Give me one good reason why not.”

 

He sighed. “Her daughter.”

 

“Who gives a  _ damn  _ about her? We can stop Rufus from dying. Take down their leader before she even becomes their leader!” 

 

He whipped his head around angrily to face her. “And then what? Then Nicholas is the head of Rittenhouse. The nineteenth amendment was never passed. Is that  _ really  _ any better, Lucy?” 

 

She bit her lip. “You’re wrong. Rittenhouse wouldn’t have the mothership. If Emma died now. We would. We could go back, take them out once and for all--”

 

“ _ Stop,”  _ he hissed again, as Emma squirmed beneath his grip, sobbing silently. 

 

She paused for a moment, looked him in the face. “Would you shoot baby Hitler if you had the chance?  _ I  _ would, damn the consequences.”   
  


“Really?” he said, voice bitter. “I don’t remember you feeling the same way when you had the option to shoot Rittenhouse’s son. What happ--”   


 

“Please,” Emma croaked, eyes pleading. “Please. I didn’t  _ do  _ anything! I don’t deserve to die this way!” 

 

“YOU TOOK EVERYTHING!” Lucy screamed suddenly, digging the barrel of the gun harder into her temple. “ _ Damn right  _ you don’t deserve to die this way! You deserve to suffer, to _burn at the fucking stake_ \--”

 

“Please!”

 

“I hate her too, Lucy, but you can’t-- _ ” _

 

She pulled the trigger. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah so sorry about the really short past couple of chapters, but at least I've been updating frequently, right? *gives appeasing smile*


	9. If This Be Error,

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay y'all got your wish for more Garcy.

A click, and then

 

Silence. 

 

Emma’s eyes were squeezed shut, heart in her throat, waiting for the inevitable pain to sear through her skull. 

 

But there was nothing, and Lucy swore. Clicked the trigger again.  

 

_ Twice. Twice that the damn gun wasn’t loaded.  _

 

_ Goddamnit.  _

 

Seeing an opportunity, Emma ducked out of Flynn’s grasp and surged toward Lucy, knocking her over with a well-placed kick to her kneecaps. Flynn spun around, trying to seize Emma by the waist, but he was too slow, and she dug her elbow into the skin above his cast until he howled in pain. 

 

With an energy fueled by adrenaline and pure fear, Emma leaped over both of them and sprinted down the hallway. Broken arm dangling awkwardly at his side, Flynn pursued her, but then she slipped into the stairwell of the fire escape, slamming the door into his face.

 

He struggled in vain with the handle, but even past-untrained-non-Rittenhouse Emma was strong enough to balance out his force, given that he only had the use of one of his arms. 

Limping heavily, Lucy joined him a few seconds later.

 

“PUSH!” he cried, and together, they were able to pry the door open, inch by inch. 

 

When it became clear that she could no longer hold it shut, Emma glanced around, panicking, before darting down the stairs. Flynn was hot in pursuit a second later, and she peeked back at him, eyes wide. 

 

He had her. 

 

She was frozen at the top of the landing, a cornered animal, and he was just a few steps away. With his good arm, he seized hold of her shirt, and she let out a little gasp, eyes darting back and forth between him and the flight of steps below her. 

 

Then she flung herself down the stairs. 

 

Lucy was at his side then, wincing in pain, and they watched in disbelief as Emma tumbled down--  ten, fifteen, twenty-five feet, landing facedown on hard concrete. 

 

“Follow her!” she hissed, nudging him, and he attempted to run down the stairs, but he was moving too quickly, and the railing was on the left side. He reached for it, but his cast didn’t quite allow him to grab it, so he was forced to slow down to an unsteady wobble in order to avoid falling. 

 

In the end, it wasn’t even close-- Emma had already stumbled out into the main hallway by the time he was halfway down the staircase. When they finally reached the lobby, she had already fled outside.

 

“Follow her,” Lucy panted. “See what her car looks like. Write down her license plate.  _ Go!”  _

He started toward the front doors, but  

 

“HEY!” called the receptionist, and they froze. Spun around. He was wielding a butter knife, which in some parallel universe might have been threatening had it not been for the fact that it was plastic. “Emma said something about you two threatening her? I’m calling the cops. Don’t even bother trying to escape. We have CCTV footage in here.” 

 

_ “Dammit,”  _ Lucy gasped out, quickly pulling her hair down over her face, turning to face Flynn. “Don’t pull out that gun. That’s a felony, and if I get arrested in 2010, I won’t finish my doctorate, won’t become a professor-- and you can be damn sure I won’t end up on the team in 2017.” 

 

“ _ Lucy,”  _ he hissed, tugging her to him, leaning over to whisper in her ear with a bit of a smug grin. “Right now, you’re  _ in the hospital.  _ You can prove that, right? There are cameras there too.”

She gritted her teeth. “Even worse, they’ll figure out the time travel thing early, and…  _ what about you?”  _

 

He winced. “I think the NSA has security footage too, and… well, we can figure something out. We should probably  _ move,  _ though.” 

 

“Good point.” 

 

“DO NOT MOVE. STAY  _ RIGHT  _ THERE!” cried the receptionist, dialing rapidly. “JUST… STAY THERE.” 

 

“I really hope you find a better job,” said Lucy sweetly, before catching hold of Flynn’s arm and breaking for the doors. 

 

***********

 

By the time Lucy slid into the driver’s seat of the Jeep, Emma was nowhere to be seen, and they both cursed. 

 

Slamming the gas pedal with more force than was perhaps necessary, she whirled around to face him. “Why the  _ hell  _ wasn’t that gun loaded?” 

 

He sighed, averting his gaze. “ I didn’t want to accidentally hurt you if it went off while I was, er… bringing you along with me. So I left it unloaded, kept some ammunition in the Lifeboat. I would’ve brought it along, but you were being pretty aggressive, and I didn’t want to take the chance that you’d get a hold of it and hurt yourself.”

 

She let out a small hiss of frustration. “Well, we kinda ended up needing it, if you haven’t noticed--”

 

“I  _ know,  _ Lucy, dammit!” he sighed. “I just didn’t want to risk hurting you, alright? That’s why I told you not to shoot, because without a gun, she would realize that she had the advantage.” 

 

She drew her lips together bitterly. “God, Flynn, why do you have to always do bad things for good reasons? It makes it so hard to hate you. Next time, can you at least  _ pretend  _ you were just being stupid?” 

 

“As you wish,” he said, quirking an eyebrow, and then they were suddenly both laughing, laughing because it was all so terrible and heartbreaking and ridiculous, laughing for no reason at all. 

“I think you’re right,” were his next words. No less mirth in his voice. No air of defeat or sadness. Just said in a matter-of-fact tone, as though he were commenting on the weather. “We can’t win. Everything we do, they escape us.” He nodded silently, traces of a grin still on his face. “Every damn thing.” 

 

She swerved sharply off of the road into a little unpaved stretch of dirt, slamming hard on the brakes. The car jolted to the side. 

 

With shaking hands, she unbuckled her seatbelt and seized his t-shirt. His eyes narrowed. 

 

“Garcia,” she began, staring intently at him. And damn him if she wasn’t gorgeous like this, covered in mud, hair mussed and still just a bit damp, eyes fiery. “Don’t you  _ ever  _ say that to me again.”

 

“It’s true, though,” he affirmed, voice tired, placing a cautious finger on her waist. “ _ Lucy-- _ I’ve been fighting for years, and it  _ just never ends.  _ And even if we stop them, it’s like you said before. We won’t be the same people we were. We can’t ever go back. _ ”  _

 

“I don’t think I want to,” she whispered softly.  “Do you?”

 

The words were passionate, somehow, spoken like a promise of things to come, and his hand instinctively tightened on her hip. And really, how was he supposed to answer that? Glancing down, he just muttered, “I’m not sure,” voice low.

 

She eyed him cautiously for minute, and then slowly leaned forward and pressed her forehead to his. Inhaling sharply, his eyes darted to hers, which were gentle and fierce at the same time-- impossible, surely, and  _ dammit, he had tried so hard, really he had, but it was no use, because he was head over heels for her anyway and there was absolutely nothing he could do about it.  _

 

Hoarsely, she whispered, “If you wanted to kiss me right now, I wouldn’t be upset.” 

 

He did, but it wasn’t on the mouth, not yet, because  _ Flynn, that was a one-night thing only, I was upset, I can’t do this, Flynn.  _

 

Either way, she seemed a bit disappointed as he placed his lips softly on her hairline, her jaw, the tip of her nose.  

 

“I think you missed,” she hummed into his ear, fisting handfuls of his shirt. 

 

“Maybe I did.” Releasing his grip on her hip, he pulled away from her. “I think we should focus on finding Emma right now. Or her daughter.”

 

“Right, of course,” she responded, shaking her head as if to snap herself out of a trance. Her fingers found the steering wheel, trembling. “Let’s go, then.” 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> UPDATE: Guys did y'all see the deleted Garcy scene that was posted on Twitter today? "You were a gentle and responsive lover." -Flynn. I'm like grinning maniacally at a wall, and I'm 100% incorporating that line into one of my next chapters. If you didn't catch it, here it is: https://twitter.com/TheTimelessRoom/status/1001590109416767488?ref_src=twsrc%5Etfw&ref_url=http%3A%2F%2Ftvline.com%2F2018%2F05%2F29%2Ftimeless-lucy-flynn-deleted-scene-season-2-episode-7-video%2F&tfw_creator=VladaGelman&tfw_site=TVLine


	10. Wand'ring Bark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucy and Flynn hunt down Emma's daughter. 
> 
> Everyone's brain explodes.

It turned out that time-traveling within the twenty-first century had several benefits besides just ATMs, the most important of these being, of course, Google. Yes, it definitely violated some anti-trust laws and may have been taking over the world, but damn, it was convenient. Besides, Lucy figured as she scrolled through Facebook, they should probably focus on stopping one world domination effort at a time.

 

Flynn leaned over her shoulder as she read through Emma’s profile, which she wasn’t exactly going to complain about even if his unloaded gun was digging rather painfully into her hip.  

 

They were in a bit of uncharted territory, and she wasn’t quite sure how to classify their relationship. Definitely not enemies; probably friends, at least most of the time; colleagues, in a sense, although it wasn’t as though either of them was getting paid for this shit. And, of course, their prior… _late-night_ _activities_ lingered unspoken between them. They would probably have to confront it at some point, she mused, but given their current predicament, she doubted whether that would be happening soon. 

 

A-ha. 

 

“Found her phone number,” Lucy exclaimed triumphantly. “You can use that to find somebody’s address, right?” 

 

Flynn gently pulled the keyboard out from her grasp and began typing with one hand. “Reverse number lookup. Easy if you’re Jiya, but I’m not sure if I can figure it out.” 

 

“Oh, come on,” she teased. “I thought you were a genius.”

 

He smirked. “Absolutely.” 

 

It turned out that he was right about that, because somehow, fifteen minutes later, they were racing out of the internet cafe, a small slip of paper containing Emma’s address in Lucy’s pocket. 

 

“Do you think that Emma’s daughter dies later on, like, in the actual timeline? Because we’ve never heard of her before,” she wondered to Flynn, while simultaneously flipping off a car which had cut her off. He chuckled quietly at her complete composure as she cursed the driver colorfully. She raised an eyebrow at him. 

 

“Uh, possibly,” he responded, focus returning quickly. “It could be that Rittenhouse was just sheltering her from us. Emma was in the past for what, ten years? More likely that she had someone else raise her for a while.” 

 

“Either way, Emma’s what, twenty-three right now? Pretty young to have a kid. I wonder how old she is.”   
  


He frowned. “From what Emma said, it sounded as though she was just a baby. Er-- do we have a plan for when we get there?”    
  


Brow furrowed, she thought for a minute. “It doesn’t make any sense to hurt the baby. We could possibly use her as a bargaining chip with Emma. Oh, and unless she’s older than we think, she’ll probably have a babysitter with her. Did you see whether Emma drove out of that hotel, or ran away on foot?” 

 

He scratched his neck, squinting. “She would have been in a hurry, but there weren’t any large skid marks on the pavement.” 

 

“That doesn’t rule out the possibility that she drove, just that she swerved suddenly.”

 

“True,” he reasoned with a frown. “However, we didn’t see her on the road, and that traffic was thick. I think it’s more likely that she ran to a police station on foot.” 

 

“Okay,” Lucy sighed, planting a hand on his chest and pushing him back into the seat so that she could see out of the right window, “So we had a headstart, but we  _ did  _ spend twenty minutes in that internet cafe, and the first place she would’ve gone probably would’ve been to check on her baby, right?” 

 

With a concerned glance at his watch, Flynn nodded. “You know what, floor it.” 

 

He punched on the Jeep’s warning lights as Lucy accelerated, giggling, earning several angry honks from other drivers. 

 

They arrived at the apartment complex several minutes later, out of breath. As he moved to exit the car, she took hold of his shirt and pulled him back. “Remember, she knows that gun isn’t loaded now. Careful.” 

 

“Never,” he said, smirking, and with an eye roll, she slid out of the driver’s seat. Ignoring the pain that still faintly stung her kneecap, Lucy started up the steps on the outside of the building, Flynn just behind. When they had reached the door of apartment 312, Flynn pushed her aside. 

 

“Let me go in first,” he panted. “It could be dangerous in there.” 

 

“You’re cute,” she said brightly, giving him a fond smile that made it clear that she hadn’t listened to a word he had said, before pushing open the door. 

 

“Okay, unlocked,” he muttered darkly, “so Emma’s probably already been here.” 

 

Lucy cautiously stepped inside. The main room was rather small and sparse, which seemed about right for a college student; but other than a small stuffed bear lying on the kitchen table, there was no evidence of a baby, or anyone, for that matter. Flynn bent down and examined the carpet. 

 

“Muddy footprints, and fresh. She was  _ just  _ here. Might still be inside.”

 

Lucy nodded, indicating with a hand that he should lower his voice. “Keep an eye on the door. Let’s check the bedroom and bathroom.” 

 

However, both were empty, although from the way that the sheets were torn off of the bed and various items were strewn across the floor, it appeared that Emma had been searching for something. Her wallet or personal documents, most likely, Lucy reasoned, bending over to examine a photograph on the dresser. In it, Emma was holding an infant, looking exhausted but still somehow positively radiant. The picture was blurry at the edges, but she appeared to be wearing a hospital gown. 

 

Flynn entered, and Lucy turned sharply toward him. 

 

“Any signs of life?”

 

“No,” he sighed. “I don’t see a cradle or toddler bed or anything, either. No bottles in the cabinets, nothing. I wonder if she was lying about the baby.” 

 

“I don’t think so,” Lucy whispered, holding out the photograph to him. His eyes softened. 

 

“She’s just a newborn. I wonder if… if she didn’t make it.” The idea seemed to startle him a bit, as though he were just realizing something for the first time. 

 

“You think that’s why Emma wanted to join Rittenhouse? Her daughter died as a newborn, and she wanted to somehow… I don’t know, go back and change that?” 

 

He inhaled, shaking his head. “I doubt it.” 

 

She laid a hand on his arm. “Maybe she’s not as bad as we thought. Maybe… maybe she just wanted to save her kid. Just like…” 

 

His eyes told her not to finish that sentence, and she turned away, sighing. “Come on, maybe we can still find out where she went.” 

They were just thirty yards away from the apartment when Flynn told her to pull over, voice hoarse. Eyeing him curiously, she did so, parking the Jeep in an empty spot by a McDonald’s.  Then she turned to him. His eyes were dark, and he looked studiously away from her.

 

“What’s wrong, Garcia?” she asked, concerned. “Look, I didn’t mean to… earlier, I mean, I know that picture reminded you of--”

 

“We can’t, Lucy,” he said, and she realized that his hands were trembling slightly beneath his sleeves. “We can’t do this. Not today.” 

 

“What?”

 

“I mean,” he continued, and his accent was growing thicker by the minute, “that we can’t kill Emma. This Emma, at least.” 

 

Her expression shifted instantaneously, anger clouding her face. “What? Are you  _ insane?”  _

 

“Possibly,” he said with a bitter smile. “Probably. But Lucy, she  _ did  _ help us once, and we… well, we owe her one.” 

 

She sighed. “This is about the baby, isn’t it?”

 

He nodded slowly, averting his gaze again. “I  _ know  _ she’s going to betray us all later and become the head of Rittenhouse--”

 

“And  _ kill Rufus,”  _ she said forcefully, as though perhaps he hadn’t quite grasped the gravity of that particular crime. 

 

“Yes. But Lucy,” and his eyes were pleading, “she’s just a college student now. A hotel maid. A grieving mother. She hasn’t  _ done  _ anything yet. She deserves a future, doesn’t she? A chance.” 

 

“She doesn’t deserve  _ anything!”  _ Lucy spat. “Flynn, we  _ know  _ what she’s going to become. Letting her live won’t change a damn  _ thing _ . She’ll still make the same choices, and Rufus will still. Be. Dead!” 

 

“IS SHE ANY DIFFERENT?” he roared suddenly, and she recoiled at the sheer  _ pain  _ flashing in his eyes, the tremor in his voice. “IS SHE? We’re the same people, Lucy.  _ I’ve  _ killed to bring my family back. So has she. So have  _ you,  _ for christ’s sake. We’re the same damn people on different sides of this war. You think the family of that, that soldier you shot wouldn’t have killed to get  _ him  _ back? I’m not saying we should let her go. Of course she deserves to die for what she’s done. But not  _ this  _ her. Not yet.” 

 

She regarded him for a moment, tight-lipped, before silently starting the car again. They didn’t say a word to each other as she continued down the avenue, past the Golden Gate Bridge, out onto the highway. 

 

When they reached the sign that read  _ Welcome to the Golden Gate National Recreation Area,  _ he murmured a small word of thanks, darting a glance at her stoic features. She ignored him. 

Up the paved dirt road. Past the ticket booth, which was now manned by a short, pimply teenager. She did not stop at the place where they had found the Jeep, maneuvering aggressively down the walking trail. Birds scattered. Branches broke around them, falling down onto the hood of the car, and still she did not speak.

 

Finally, when they reached the Lifeboat, she muttered “Get out,” and climbed inside the time machine without another word. He, too, attempted to vault up through the entrance, but since he only had one working arm, he was unable to get a firm enough grip on the edges. 

 

She sighed. Leaning out of the Lifeboat, she grabbed him roughly under the arms. “Pull yourself up with your good arm.” 

 

With their combined strength, he was hoisted into the Lifeboat, landing heavily on top of Lucy. He attempted to extricate himself from her, but she seized his shirt and pulled him back. 

 

“Uh, Lucy, what are you doing?” he said, shivering as she sat up on her knees, still gripping his shirt. Gently, she pulled his head down to her shoulder and let it rest there. 

 

“It’s been a hell of a day,” she whispered. “You kidnapped me, I saved my past self from drowning with my hands  _ fucking tied _ , we  _ almost  _ had Emma, found out she had a damn  _ kid _ , and then you stopped us from killing her, after all. All of this,  _ all of this,  _ Garcia, and at the end of the day, I don’t even hate you.”

 

“That’s surprising, considering that  _ I  _ would hate me” he muttered, pulling away to face her. “Lucy. I really am sorry for everything.” 

 

She laughed softly. “It wasn’t not even your fault at the end, most of it. Most of it was  _ my  _ fault, actually, or will be. But… I learned something today.” 

 

She exhaled. “I was completely helpless, in that water, watching myself drown, and there shouldn’t have been any way for me to help myself, but I did. Garcia, I saved my own damn self, without  _ anybody’s  _ help, and if I could do that, I can damn sure give Rittenhouse a run for their money. And so can you, darling.”  

 

Sharply, he glanced up at her. She was kneeling there with that same fire in her eyes as before, and didn’t allow himself to think, to  _ breathe,  _ just pressed his lips to hers the way he had wanted to for so damn long. 

 

*******

 

“Where the  _ hell  _ have you two been?” hissed Agent Christopher angrily as the pair stumbled out of the Lifeboat. “Unsolicited jump-- what were you  _ thinking?”  _

 

“Lucy’s idea,” sighed Flynn, running a hand through his hair. “Future Lucy, that is.” 

 

“Didn’t exactly work,” Lucy commented. “We found out some important information about Emma, but didn’t change anything.” 

 

“Except…  _ that,”  _ said Flynn, staring incredulously as a young child raced through the bunker and wrapped her arms around Lucy’s waist. She let out a small gasp of surprise, eyeing the little girl with suspicion. Her hair was dark and long, her face stretched with a sunny grin. 

 

“Lucy and Garcia!” she cried in a tiny voice. “I’m so glad! We were all worried. HEY, MOMMY! RUFUS! THEY’RE BACK!” 

 

The couple exchanged shocked glances, Lucy mouthing  _ what the hell?  _ as Rufus strode easily into the room, as though he hadn’t just been, well,  _ dead,  _ throwing Lucy a smile and patting her on the shoulder. She stood there, frozen. 

 

“Uh, what did we change?” she asked Flynn, hands shaking. “We didn’t even…” 

 

“Hey, Lucy! You were gone for a while. Missed you, hon!” called out a warm voice, and she was suddenly enfolded into the arms of a taller woman who most definitely was  _ not  _ Jiya. Gaping, she pulled away and stared in utter disbelief as -huh?-  _Emma_ smiled at her, eyes shining. 

  
_What?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dun dun dun!!!!


	11. Whose Worth's Unknown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma.

At three o’clock in the morning on her seventeenth birthday, Emma Whitmore ran into the girl who would change her life. Quite literally ran into her, racing down the sidewalk outside of her house at full speed, backpack in tow. Yes, it was foolish of her not to pay attention-- the streets were narrow and dim, full of all sorts of dangerous types, especially at this hour. But she could handle herself well enough. Probably. (A part of her screamed that this was different, that she was only familiar with her father’s style of fighting, but really it was either this or stay in that broken house and suffer more. Not even a choice.)

 

It was her birthday, though dawn hadn’t fallen yet, wasn’t it? She briefly considered what that would have meant, had she not chosen to run away. On her birthdays, she was usually allowed to sleep in a few extra hours, (if her father managed to stay sober until noon, that is), which is why she had chosen that particular day. Better if they didn’t miss her until she had a bit of a head start. Not that they really noticed her, anyway. And her mind flashed briefly with guilt at leaving her mother behind, but she wouldn’t have agreed, would’ve made a big fuss about it, most likely. Cara Whitmore had never been as strong as her daughter. 

 

Emma did not notice the dark figure in the distance as she threw a cautious glance over her shoulder. Funny how the little details like that work out. When she slammed full-force into that girl, she did not realize how much it was going to change her life. Sometimes, she thought bitterly, she wished it hadn’t happened at all. 

 

The girl apologized hastily, said her name was Yvonne and why was Emma out so late? Didn’t she know how dangerous it was? Yvonne was coming home from work, was just going to get a drink, and would Emma like to come along? 

 

She nodded and followed the other girl, not mentioning that she was only seventeen or wondering what kind of a job finished work at three a.m. They sat at the bar and Emma told her everything as she sipped a ginger ale. The bartender hadn’t given her a second glance, but she didn’t want any alcohol, had seen what that had done to her father. When the sun began to barely peek over the edge of the laundromat across the street, Yvonne kissed her on the cheek and told her to go home. It wasn’t safe out here, she said, and a broken, dysfunctional, abusive family was better than none at all. 

 

Foolishly, she had listened. 

 

Nobody had noticed her absence yet when she stumbled in the door at ten o’clock that morning, but when her father saw the lipstick print on the corner of her mouth, he hurled his beer bottle at her, calling her a filthy dyke. In all likelihood, he would not remember it the next morning, but still she was angry, still felt the need to prove him wrong. 

 

So she took Darryl from AP Physics home one night. He told her he wanted to stay, and she told him no. 

 

He stayed. She drove him out the next morning, screaming, but the damage was done. Six months later, Cara Whithouse decided that enough was enough and fled the house, taking with her only two hundred dollars and her pregnant daughter. 

 

Emma called the baby Jasmine, because the hospital menu that the nice nurse had given her offered  _ Jasmine Tea-- $0.99,  _ and she decided that was as good a name as any. She hadn’t felt an instant connection with her, like everyone told her she would, just an overwhelming urge to protect this infant from her drunk bastard of a grandfather. She mewled helplessly in Emma’s arms, dark skin slick and bloody, and the new mother, exhausted, wondered why the hell this kid was  _ hers.  _ She was still a child herself. 

 

So she left Jazzy with Cara and left for Cal Tech that summer. Her mother had told her  _ don’t leave me here alone with this kid,  _ but Emma was sick and tired of doing what others had told her. Besides, she knew next to nothing about raising a child. 

 

She was brilliant. Graduated Summa Cum Laude, and MIT all but begged her to get her master’s there. She gratefully accepted the full scholarship and worked the summer before graduate school at the Fitzgerald in San Francisco. 

 

Then two strangers shoved her against a wall, threatened her with a gun, and she was terrified. They wanted her  _ baby  _ specifically, asked about Jazzy, even went so far as to raid her apartment, or so the police told her later. She hadn’t planned on raising this child, had just wanted to leave her with her mother until she grew, but that night Emma showed up on Cara’s doorstep, seized the five year old girl, and left. 

 

Jasmine never saw her grandmother again, and wondered who the hell this stranger was, this stranger who insisted that she was her  _ mother,  _ for goodness’s sake. Weren’t mothers supposed to love you? Then why hadn’t hers taken care of her? Why hadn’t she ever really even seen her before? She screamed and cried and kicked, but Emma never let the little girl out of her sight again. 

 

Eventually, Jasmine could say “I love you, mommy,” and Emma could answer “I love you, too, more than anything,” and it was true. 

 

She couldn’t remember the faces of the people who had threatened her. Couldn’t even recall anything about them, just that the woman had been wet and the man had had a broken arm. A fresh blue cast. She saw that cast in her dreams. Hated it. 

 

Her therapist said that was natural to block out traumatic memories. It didn’t stop her from screaming in frustration into her pillow at night. 

 

Then Mason Industries hired her and she almost screamed in relief. She was going to make money, perhaps even be rich. She could protect Jazzy. Her little girl would never have to experience the type of abject poverty that she had. She found that she enjoyed the work, even became friends with her coworkers. Anthony was nice, but she especially liked Rufus. Things were looking up. 

 

One day, however, a couple of men approached her as she was strapping Jazzy into her car seat outside of the warehouse and asked to speak with her. 

 

“Go right ahead,” she said. They insisted that she walk away from the car so they could talk with her privately, and she told them “Fuck off.” 

 

So they began a long-winded speech about protecting the status quo and how things in America these days just weren’t right. They told her that they were the heads of the CIA, that they wanted her to fake her own death and live in the past. She would be a sleeper agent, they said. Trust them. She would serve the greater good. 

 

“CIA my ass. Like I said,” hissed Emma, sliding into the driver’s seat. “Fuck off.” 

 

“Fine, suit yourself,” said the man who called himself Benjamin Cahill, genially enough, but with a hint of a threat in his voice. “Lovely little girl you have there, by the way. I have a daughter myself. It’s a dangerous world out there. Keep an eye on her. ” 

 

An eye on Jazzy wasn’t the only thing she kept from then on. She carried a handgun in her bra and never left the warehouse. Jazzy complained constantly about having to live there with her mother now, so Agent Christopher started to bring her children, who were homeschooled, to work, and they started a makeshift school. 

 

Multiple kidnapping attempts were made on Jazzy in the next few months. Everyone in the bunker learned to watch her, to keep her safe, even the old, frail Anthony. 

Sometimes she wondered what she would do if they succeeded. As difficult as it was to admit it, she supposed she  _ would  _ do as they asked her, fake her death. Anything to protect her daughter. 

 

Then some terrorist named Garcia Flynn took Anthony and the mothership, and two new employees were suddenly hired. Lucy was her favorite. Wyatt was nice enough, but she could see well enough that his father was like hers, and she saw herself sometimes in his eyes. It frightened her. 

 

She and Rufus alternated piloting on missions. Gradually, they became aware of Rittenhouse, an evil organization that seemed to have been controlling history since, well, the beginning of America. 

 

She hugged Jazzy a little tighter at night. 

 

Then Lucy, Wyatt, and Rufus went out on a mission together, and Rufus was badly injured. Emma was the only other pilot, so she was forced to fly it home even though none of them had any idea how it would affect her to be the fourth person in a time machine meant for three. 

She was unconscious for a long while. 

 

Flynn was arrested, but really, she didn’t have the heart to hate him. She understood. Damn it, she would have done more than  _ he  _ had to keep Jasmine safe. 

 

She visited him sometimes, brought him coffee and razorblades and newspapers. He never spoke and neither did she. 

 

Then Lucy was kidnapped by Marcus, a Rittenhouse Agent, and Jazzy cried into Emma’s sweater for hours. The mothership was gone, too. They had moved to a different bunker, one with barely any space. She and Jazzy slept with Jiya. 

 

Emma realized that the fainting spells were visions after the first few times they happened. She wasn’t sure if they were of the future or the past, or what they even  _ meant,  _ until she saw Lucy, smiling as she exited the Lifeboat. The next day, Lucy came back and the scene was duplicated in front of her eyes. 

 

It was funny, actually, that after all of that, their largest problem was suddenly where Lucy would sleep. She spent the nights with Wyatt at first, until Jessica suddenly materialized inside the bunker and she quietly began to lodge in Flynn’s room. 

Emma watched, amused, as they denied all romantic intentions for each other over and over until it became predictable. Either way, everyone saw the sleepy murmured endearments, the small gestures of affection, the stolen kisses. 

 

Then her eyes rolled back in her head again, and she saw flashes of herself in a strange room, hands tied. Jessica  aiming a gun at her. And then Wyatt sobbing over a coffin. And she knew what she had to do. 

 

When Jessica aimed Wyatt’s gun at Jazzy two weeks later, demanding that Emma come with her, she didn’t even protest, just went silently amidst her daughter’s wails. Jessica gave her the coordinates to the Rittenhouse bunker, and Emma locked the door to the Lifeboat and sat there. 

 

“Do  _ not  _ think I’m joking,” hissed Jessica. “Fly this damn thing, or I  _ will  _ shoot you.” 

 

“Good, go ahead, if it makes you happy,” said Emma sweetly. “But keep in mind that you don’t know how to unlock the door, let alone fly this thing. You’ll just be stuck in here for a long damn time. The others will realize what happened and take you prisoner. Eventually.” 

 

The other woman huffed at her for a few more minutes, but ultimately conceded. “Okay, you know what? You  _ are  _ flying this thing, no matter what you say, but I’ll agree to some of your terms for now. Maybe. Tell me what you want me to do.” 

 

“Put down the gun, for starters.” 

 

Grudgingly, Jessica complied, which was really a rather stupid thing to do, because not two minutes later, the bartender was pinned underneath her on the floor of the Lifeboat, struggling uselessly. “Bitch,” she snarled.  

 

Then Emma was blowing smoke off the top of the pistol. “Damn right,” she told Jessica’s corpse. 

 

Four days after the funeral, Lucy and Flynn materialized in the warehouse area after an unsolicited jump. Emma hugged her casually, as she was apt to do after these missions, but when she pulled away, something was wrong. 

 

Lucy was damp. Her clothes were wet and stank of pond water. 

 

And Garcia’s left arm was covered with a bright blue cast.

She lunged at them. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, you might have been able to infer from this chapter how all this happened. If not, hold your horses cause the next one is coming soon! 
> 
> Note: yeah, I like Emma. Sue me for not killing her. (yet...??) She really interests me. I feel like she had something more going on than what we see on the surface, another motive for joining Rittenhouse. I mean, she's not really sexist. She's not racist. She does seem to be power-hungry, but not all that much. So I gave her a kid. Problem solved.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments= Love!


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